Lies of Murk by Eva Chase
13
Talia
The iron bars drag at my hands and leave a faintly gritty residue on my skin. My nose has filled with a smell that’s far too close to the stink of dried blood. But I can’t deny that Orion found the perfect job for a human in the midst of his fae subjects.
The Murk who are working alongside me, using a large machine to melt down the bars and then pour the liquid metal into molds, have to switch off regularly as their faces pale and sweat breaks out on their skin. The Murk’s Heart doesn’t have the same aversion to iron as the Heart of the Mists does, and its power helps the fae drawing on it resist the usual ill effects they’d experience from being close to the metal they find toxic, which must be how they were able to create that iron-laced smoke in the summer realm. But being near the substance still wears on them after a while.
It doesn’t affect me at all, at least not physically. So here I am, feeding the bars into the furnace, knowing that all this work is going toward tools that’ll help the Murk attack the other fae.
At least I’m getting a close look at their tactics. When the first batch of molds have set, one of the Murk women working in this alcove calls me over. “Could you move them from the original molds into these?” she says, pointing to another row of contraptions on a table along the concrete wall.
I’d appreciate the fact that she asked rather than ordered more if it wasn’t obvious now what I’m making. The Murk are creating cuffs and collars like the one Arch-Lord Celia once subdued Corwin’s magic with—constructed with other metals they can handle without harming themselves on the outside around an iron core to turn any fae they lock those bindings around helpless. I wonder if the collar Celia found in Ambrose’s things was originally Murk-made too.
I lift the iron cores out of the smaller molds and set them in the center of the larger rings, weighing my next words. “You’d have to get pretty close to someone to get one of these things on them,” I say to the fae who are readying the lead they’re going to pour around the iron. “How are we going to manage that?” Celia was only able to get the collar around Corwin’s neck by taking him by surprise and overwhelming him before he knew what was happening. That won’t work on a larger scale.
What else does Orion have planned? The whole reason I’m pretending to want to join their invasion is so I can find that out.
One of the men gives me a fierce-looking smile. “We’ve got many other uses for the iron, and Orion is working on spells to let us repel the effects more easily and for longer. We’ll have smoke and arrows and darts.”
The other rubs his hands together. “I look forward to seeing them suffer a tiny bit as much as they’ve hurt our kind.”
“You’ve had bad run-ins with the fae of the seasons?” I ask.
The first one nods. “Haven’t we all? I lost my mother to them.”
“My cousin,” the second one mutters with a twitch of his tail.
And what were those fae doing when they were “lost”? Somehow I suspect they were causing trouble, and the other fae were only defending themselves. But I can’t expect these ones to open up to me more if I point that out.
“You’ll still need to get pretty close even for smoke and projectiles to reach them,” I say instead, running my thumb over my mouth as if contemplating the problem. “It’s a long way from the fringes to any of the important domains.” The other fae would have to notice a huge force of Murk heading their way with all this equipment long before the Murk got anywhere near the Heart of the Mists—unless they have some secret strategy.
“Oh, they’ll never see us coming,” says the woman who beckoned me over, letting out a harsh chuckle. “Soon we’ll have full ‘carriages’ of our own, and we’re only getting more adept at hiding ourselves. All we’ll need—”
A voice from behind me interrupts, light but firm. “I think Orion would appreciate more work and a little less talking.”
My pulse stutters. I glance over to see that Madoc has come into the workshop alcove. His heavy-lidded eyes linger on me for a moment longer than the others, studying me. Does he suspect that I’m here specifically to hear their talk and not because I really want to be making weapons?
I’m itching to ask what exactly the Murk will “need” to hide a mass of carriages, but it feels too risky to push the subject with Orion’s close associate looking on. I set the last iron core in its new mold and go back to the furnace where more of the bars need to be added to the melting vat.
Madoc follows, dismissing the man who was pouring the melted metal into the molds and taking over that job himself. Despite his position with the Murk king, he obviously doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty.
Does Orion himself ever come and help with the work? Or does he just give orders and dispense judgment while lounging around his throne?
“So, you decided to take up the cause, did you?” Madoc says to me, his expression tightening only slightly as he sets his hands close to the liquid iron to adjust the angle of the spout.
I wonder what his aversion to the metal feels like, just how much the Murk’s Heart is able to shield them. Would these collars work against their makers if we found a way to turn the tables on them?
I’m not sure how much Orion might have told him about the conversation that led to me taking this job. The last time I talked to Madoc, I was criticizing his king’s methods.
“I think all fae have a right to the Mists,” I say, which is reasonably true. “And maybe the ones who’d have liked to see me locked up deserve some of the same treatment themselves.”
The woman near me snorts. “That’d be all of them. If you don’t meet their standards, they want you dead or enslaved to them—and we’d never agree to the latter.”
“The humans trapped in the Mists don’t get much choice,” Madoc remarks. “They can’t fight back. We’ll see them freed too.”
My gut twists, thinking of how I’d just started to fight for the rights of the other humans in the summer and winter realms before I was stolen away. I want to see them get their free will back, but not by having all the other fae slaughtered or enchained instead.
One of the men by the lead vat harrumphs. “We don’t have any need for mortal servants running around doing our own work for us.” He halts and glances at me. “Not that we’d turn away your voluntary help, of course.”
His hasty clarification doesn’t erase the disdain I heard in his voice. I’m not actually surprised that at least some of the Murk look down on humans just like their Seelie and Unseelie counterparts do. I guess it’d be hard for them not to when we are so much less powerful and so short-lived. But Orion and Madoc have liked to paint a picture of me being treated as an equal here.
I’m probably respected only for how I inadvertently supported their war. How would they talk to me if I wasn’t their king’s creation?
The thought of Orion’s meddling with my body and spirit sends a shudder through me I can’t quite suppress. Madoc’s gaze latches onto me again. “Are you all right?”
I can’t tell whether he’s concerned or suspicious. Maybe both.
I chuck another iron bar into the furnace. “I don’t like remembering how those fae treated me in the Mists. It’s bad enough that they’ve damaged my body permanently. They shouldn’t get to hold onto my mind too.”
The man Madoc took over from, who’s hung back in the doorway, lets out a sound of agreement. “Orion says they’ve infected us all with a sense of inadequacy and failure. That we’d have accomplished so much more if not for all those millennia of being shoved to the fringes and treated like vermin. Many of us they’ve outright killed or hobbled, but they’ve marred all our souls. Our new Heart is only just starting to heal them.”
No wonder they hate the fae of the seasons so much when Orion is spouting proclamations like that. No responsibility taken for the way the Murk have treated the other fae all this time. How many of the Murk here have really dealt with the Seelie or Unseelie face-to-face in good faith to know what they’re actually like?
“It’s good that you’re finally getting a chance to overcome their bullying,” I say, seeing a chance to subtly get at the information I want. “And incredibly impressive that you’ve come up with so many strategies to put them in their place. The fae I was with had no idea how often you were coming into the Mists. It must be a very clever trick to disguise your presence so completely.”
I’m hoping that my praise will encourage some bragging, but all I get are a few chuckles. “That it is,” says one of the men.
“The pack and flock you call yours must have stepped up protections after the incidents we arranged with the Unseelie village, the smoke, and the rest,” Madoc says in a casual tone I don’t totally believe. “What did they think would manage to stop us?”
He’s talking as if he’s only looking for an amusing conversation, mocking the other fae’s efforts, but he’s also trying to get at their strategy, whether purposefully or not. I nibble at my lower lip nervously, but the truth is I don’t know much I could tell him anyway.
“I think it was mostly just a matter of more,” I say with a light laugh as if I’m buying into the idea that we’re just poking fun at them. “More guards, more sentries. Obviously that wasn’t enough, or I wouldn’t be here.”
Too bad for me.
“And we’re all glad for that,” Madoc says, shooting me another smile. “The many crimes of the fae of the seasons will soon be repaid in full.”
Another waft of the iron scent fills my nose, and suddenly I can’t bear to keep up this façade any longer. A burn tickles the back of my eyes, threatening to spill over into tears.
I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to have to worry about seeing the men I love destroyed by these people—to be helping prepare the tools to do it. I’ve been hanging in there, keeping up the best front I can, but inside I can feel my strength starting to crumble.
I can’t show my true feelings in front of the Murk around me, though. Hefting another iron bar, I let my arms wobble, not totally for show. After I toss that one in, I rub my biceps. “I’m not sure I can keep this up for much longer. My muscles aren’t used to this much physical labor.”
“Of course,” Madoc says. “There are plenty who can take over. We appreciate your help. If you’d like me to bring you to the healer to have the soreness addressed—”
I shake my head quickly. “No, that’s all right. I think it’s better if my body adjusts without any supernatural intervention. I’ll just go take a nap.”
I stop in the bathroom to wash as much of the metallic stink off my hands as I can. It remains on my clothes after I leave, little whiffs reaching my nose at random intervals, but one of the Murk took the other outfit they’ve given me this morning to clean it and I don’t have anything to change into right now.
Ignoring the smell as well as I can, I head toward my hovel, but then wander on past it as if I’ve changed my mind and want to stretch my legs some more. I keep a careful eye on the tracks around me as I drift through the tunnels toward the maintenance area.
No one appears to pay me much mind. My show of helping with the war preparations might at least have earned me a little more trust from my captors.
I still wait in the maintenance area for several minutes, faking an injury to test for unseen watchers, before I risk using the true name to reshape my bracelet.
This time, it only takes two tries to get the conjured wrench to the right size. But it turns out I wasn’t totally lying about my arms being tired. I yank and strain at the second bolt I’ve picked for what feels like an hour, sweat trickling down my back, and by the end of all that effort I’m not sure I’ve budged it more than one full rotation.
I lower the wrench, a dull but deep ache radiating through my arms into my shoulders and back. I don’t think I can make any more progress today—I barely made any as it is.
My free hand clenches with the urge to slam it into the vent cover in frustration, but that won’t give me anything but bruised knuckles. I let out a breath in a ragged sigh.
I thought I might be able to arrange my escape in a week. What if it takes so much longer?
What if the strengths I have aren’t enough to get me out of here at all?
There has to be another way I can find a chance to escape.
